I am back from the realm of 'in the middle of moving, accompanied by treacherous phone-people'.
Want to know more? Check author page, it's been updated.
Now on with the much delayed show!
Disclaimer: I don't own Sailor Moon or Gundam Wing, and right now I'm too lazy to look up who actually does. I'm just stating that it's certainly not me.
Part 8: Reflex
Imagine night-time:
You are in stuck in the Preventers building, watching over a close friend as he is recovering from assault, stroking his hair to sooth the sobbing youth, while you are worrying about your other dear friend.
He is terminally ill. He is unstable. He has no hope of recovery and you feel helpless, knowing he planned this… this… running away, and executed it to perfection. Always perfection.
They didn't even know he'd run off, didn't know that he had done it, didn't know that he had planned it, until it was too late. He's gone now.
Then, you discover the gun missing. And they all know how eager Heero is to terminate himself.
Wufei can remember clearly that night:
They had given up. It was growing close to daybreak and Yuy still wasn't back. They didn't think he would. Be back.
Winner was still crying as they returned to the mansion, leaning on Maxwell as they left the car, and Maxwell… Duo, himself had looked quite distraught. Wufei had been looking everywhere but at them, avoiding everyone's eyes, and he'd felt like a cowered for doing that. Barton remained silent.
As dawn was creeping slowly closer, they'd been walking up the path in silence, none wishing to speak.
And then, Winner had frozen. His head snapping up like a deer, caught in the eyes of a predator, and his tears were forgotten.
The war may have been over, but not long enough. Hard earned paranoia will never leave you. They had all spun, weapons raised.
It was Yuy.
Duo also remembers that night, the moment they spotted him:
He appeared from the shadows, fazing out of the darkness as if he was one with it, gliding up towards them like a wraith. Duo had thought he was seeing a ghost.
And then Quatre had pushed him away, making him stumble, while the crying blond rushed towards the seeming spectre. And all that Duo could think as Quatre opened his arms and dove recklessly towards the silent figure was that: If that really is Hee-chan, then Quatre was going to die; because Heero never EVER let anybody touch him. Not like that. And right now, Heero didn't have any self-control at ALL.
But when he opened his eyes, Quatre was still alive, holding onto the brunette fiercely, sobbing into his chest "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry" as he hugged him for dear life. And the only sign of Heero's discomfort was the way his pupils dilated for a nanosecond, face going blank in surprise, before he slowly, hesitantly, nearly timidly, raised his hands, encircling the youth, embracing him back. And as he processed the situation and the words the blond was hiccupping sunk in, a transformation took place; he relaxed, masks falling away, forgetting all others, shaking off his rustiness, growing more confident as he comforted the weeping Arabian.
"Nakanai de," he hushed softly, his nasal voice growing husky, stroking soothingly the youths hair, "Nakanaide kudasai, chibi senshi. Daijobu. I feel better now, so don't cry."
And then he smiled; and for a moment, just a single moment, Duo could see, they ALL saw, how Relena could fall in love with Heero.
Flash
"…The truth is I am a perfect soldier; as perfect as can ever be…"
Flash
'But the Perfect Soldier is not you; is it Heero…?'
That had been three months ago, and it is now August. They still don't understand what happened, and Heero never showed that smile again. Maybe it is for the best? Because now, Heero is back and he's finally getting well.
"He's getting better, Lady."
"…"
"He's growing restless."
"… I know."
"Let him come back."
"…"
"Please."
"…not that it's bad that you're getting better, Hee-chan, but you have to admit that it is kinda weird, you getting better like that; I mean, you were dying, man, and now… well, shit! you know what I mean, don't you? And Sally's having a cow, trying to figure all this out, and you're saying nothin, silent as Buddha, and come on dude, it's annoying! Everybody tiptoeing around you, and we're all dieing to know what happened…"
Click. "Duo. Shut up."
"H-hey!" Yelp. "Put that away Hee-chan, you might shoot somebody."
Sigh. "Seems they're coming."
Trowa smirks, "Was there any doubt?"
Wufei shakes he's head, "Nataku."
"Duo, could you please be quiet for a minute? Heero, put that away; we're nearly at Une's office."
"At least one of them has some sense," the Chinese grumbles, crossing his arms.
"Yo, Une-lady," the braided menace salutes, skipping merrily into the office; followed by a blank-faced Heero, absently tucking his gun into his pocket, and an embarrassed Quatre trailing their wake.
"Duo," Une nods, before shifting her attention to the object of this meeting, "Heero, good to see you."
"Hn." Yes, Heero is without a doubt feeling better.
"I assume that Sally cleared you?"
A curt nod answers that sensitive issue.
Sighing, folding her hands on the table, Une begins reluctantly:
"I won't lie; I don't think you are ready to come back. You have proved unreliable, shown signs of both mental and physical instability, and up till three months ago, you were dying."
"My job is to prevent war. I protect these people and will do anything to ensure this fragile peace remains. You are a threat Heero Yuy, both by your actions and your own admission. I-" Une's jaw clicks shut, her mouth a thin line as she frowns unhappily, before ploughing on, admitting, "I don't know what to do with you."
Shuffling her papers, she lets this sink in with her audience. They are for obvious reasons displeased.
"However; there is a problem." Une's curt statement makes the others jump, they thought she had finished; Heero remains immobile, unimpressed.
"Much as I detest going against my better judgement, recent circumstances," she winches, "have aroused a need for a… special agent." Sharp eyes look into Prussian blue. "I need you, Heero Yuy." Snapping around to the rest of them: "This will NOT leave this room."
A metallic screen unfolds across the Lady's wall, abrupt and without warning, the ex-pilots still feeling the tense anticipation from the stressed 'special agent'. The flick of a button turns it on and the image of a room, more of an office, appears onscreen. People are frozen across the wall, caught in a moment, miniatures going about their daily lives. Another flick, and they start moving. There is no sound.
"Wednesday, April 19th," Une narrates, "a rebel group, called Crimson Mist, attacked a Preventers office."
On screen the door bangs open, disturbing the peace of the office. A dozen armoured men stride in, quickly, bearing Uzi's. The people, obviously civilians, meaning this is a civilian section of the building, freeze.
"They took the civilians hostage."
The rebels can be seen silently rounding the people, herding them to one side. The tiny people go quietly.
One soldier separates from the others. The leader. He makes a phone call.
"The one standing alone is Bartholomew Bartoch. He is making demands."
Onscreen, Bartholomew is yelling at the earpiece. They cannot hear what he is saying, but it doesn't take much imagination. The Preventers don't negotiate with terrorists.
In the background, they can see the hostages shivering.
"They are not important."
Bartholomew is screaming through the phone, waving his gun in angry gesticulations that the receiver could not possibly see. Or care about.
It is a cruel reality. They can see the hostages faces, when they realise that nobody is going to save them. They are going to die.
An older man steps forward, a cliché, trying to be brave, pleading with the terrorists. Bartholomew shoots him. Heroes are not wanted.
The hostages scream. A young girl fights the mob, crawling resolutely over to the fallen man, pressing on his wounds, trying to save him.
"…but She is."
The girl presses fabric to the wounds, trying desperately to staunch the bleeding. But they can all see it isn't helping. The blood keeps pooling around them.
She is crying. She knows.
The man grows stills. Twitching. Dead.
Bartholomew shouts at her, most likely ordering her back.
The girl rises. They can see her tremble, hands fisting, watching the body.
One of the soldiers takes a menacing step forward, reaching out for her. And the world explodes in light.
Une flicks a button and the film slows even more.
Picture by picture they see white light burst out from the girl. Covering her like a supernova. The faint outline of a human shape inside the burning light. The way the other people are shielding their eyes. And then the light fades. It could not have been more than a second gone by.
Sharp intakes of breath.
He died.
They killed him.
No.
No.
NO!
There was an angel standing where the girl had stood. A funny looking one. Wearing a sailor-multi-skirted uniform. And the wings were not proper wings if you looked closely; they were the bow of the dress. And yet, they were wings.
"They say she was beautiful, with a crescent moon emblem on her forehead," Une murmurs, watching the image that their eyes have trouble fixing on, each time they slide off, unable to focus. "Pale, golden streamers hung from two ornamental buns, and eyes the colour of silver…"
They Will Pay.
Her face narrows in anger, they can see her speak.
"She spoke in a foreign language, and yet all the people there claim they understood her. 'Ai to seigi no, seeraa fuku bishoujo senshi, Seeraa Muun. Tsuki ni kawatte, oshiokyo.' It means—"
"I am the beautiful sailor-suited soldier, Sailor Moon; Champion of Love and Justice. In the name of the moon, I will punish you!"
Reflex.
Reflex is in reality an automatic response to a given situation that may harm your body. Signals will be sent from nerve till nerve, travelling at speeds beyond comprehension, until it reaches your spine. Should your mind be the one to make the decision, the prompted reaction would reach most limbs too late, even if they were travelling at the 'speed of light'. So the spine makes the decision for you; and most times, you will never feel the pain you should have. Because you really move that fast.
But people are complex, and with this complexity, so does the meaning of reflex expand. Because reflexes can be taught. And however unnatural this action is, you will still react to this given situation the same way; because it is reflex, an automatic motion, and you Did Not Think.
You Acted.
Gasp.
'What have I done!'
A single delicate hand lifts to her face. Eyes staring in incomprehension at the glove covering it.
She shakes.
This is not real. This is not happening.
When I wake up Chibiusa will be lying on my bed drawing, and when I tell her about my dream she will call me odango-atama and laugh because I believed it, and then we will go down and eat one of okaasan's wonderful meals.
I can feel tears stinging.
"Iya."
At first, they think that they imagined the sound. But then they see how Heero tenses, his pupils widen as his eyes practically swallow the image of the now suddenly trembling 'angel'.
And then they realise that her lips are moving, and they can hear her ghostly whispers as she shakes her head in denial.
"Iya."She weeps.
Yet all else is silent.
This isn't real.
The Crimson Mist look as lost at what to do as the suffering figure standing alone, moaning in soul depriving misery, voice quailing as it rises in volume, "IYA."
This Is Not Real!
"IYA!"
NOT REAL!
"IYA!"
And with that last scream, the building ripples, the air moves, waves become tangible as the scream goes up an octave, transforming into a horrendous keening sonic wave that spreads out from her centre. The glass shatters, spraying everyone; the windows bulge, expanding in a gross parody of a balloon before exploding; glass is raining everywhere. And the people fall to their knees, clutching their ears as they try to shut out the screeching sound.
Sympathetic waves echoes through Une's office, but this is an recording, an unexplainable imprint, and the sound is from the past. It is bearable. But they can feel the glass vibrate.
On screen the figure is still keening, arms wrapped around her stomach in an effort of self-comfort, lost in her own world of sorrowful misery.
Across the room, among the fallen people; there is no distinguishing between soldier and civilian, they have all fallen to the ground, defeated; one, Bartholomew, raises his head with effort. A shaking arm flops, trying to rise, uselessly. A second is lifted, joining the first, and together they rise from the floor. This feat alone is obviously taking tremendous effort, requiring an effort of will. The gun held in the trembling hands is fired.
The angel crumbles.
There is silence.
"What-" Duo begins, but is shushed by Une.
"Shhh. Watch."
People slowly get up. They all look shaken. Ashen. The soldiers look to Bartholomew for advice. Their leader is still on his knees, trembling, arms outstretched, holding the gun. Seeing nothing.
"Sir?"
"Sir?"
They try shaking him awake.
"Is she dead, sir?"
Blink, blink.
"I-" he stammers, before he turns to them, "I shot her in the heart."
"…" The hostages are beginning to come out of their daze.
One of his soldiers takes a hesitant step towards the body, while the rest of them shift, restlessly. "Is the mission aborted, sir?"
They all look at him.
He looks at them. Hesitant.
"No."
He firms his resolve.
"No, the mission will-" he turns around.
"Oh Allah," Quatre gasps. The rest are speechless.
The body twitches. The fingers spasm briefly. And then, with an unnatural grace, the angel sits up.
She is getting up.
Horror.
Drunkenly, she is getting to her feet.
What do I do? What is she?
She looks up.
I feel numb.
Her suit is flawless, still a pristine white. Not a speck of crimson mars it.
"I didn't know it could do that," she says idly, brushing off imaginary dust. "Thank you." And then she smiles. It's a nasty smile of one no longer innocent.
I have to get away!
Take a step back. She mirrors it. Take another step away. She mirrors that as well. Panic! Take a third step. A soldier shoots her.
She pauses, looking down at her arm. Surprised. It is bleeding. Red blood trailing down bare skin.
"Hmmm," she hums in childish fascination, watching the blood flow, "That is bad."
Silver eyes pierce my skin as she looks up, eyes glowing; they take up all of her face, shading the rest.
"My turn."
Her clothes disintegrate into sand as she explodes into action, falling away from her in pink streams around her feet. And just as quickly as it touches the floor, it slithers up her form again, undulating, like it's alive, spreading out across her moving body. Covering everything; her naked body, her hair, her face. Everything. A pink silhouette. The view is more terrifying than one would think.
The pink form expands, morphing. The hair falls loose, blowing in a nonexistent wind, rising on its own, braiding itself into two pointed buns, the loose ends coming to a rest by the small of her back, before returning to it's pale golden colour.
The dust contracts, sinking into the skin, revealing a high collared bodysuit of dark green and blue, colours so familiar because you see them every time you look out of a space shuttle back at Earth.
Where the suit ends, long gloves come up to cover the skin, one green, one blue, from shoulder and down. There is no skin exposed. The boots thicken, growing flat and hard soles; better to run with.
A butterfly unfolds it's wings across her eyes; hiding her face behind an aquamarine shimmer. Protected.
And all the while she is moving, running, speeding towards the soldiers doom.
"They will die now," Une states.
They believe her.
It was blood that gave me life, the weak crying out for a hero to come forth for them. It is blood that I will spill from them that would prey on the innocent. I was made for such war.
Judge, Jury and Executioner; I am a soldier, forged in battle.
I will protect the weak. I will fight for justice. I will destroy all evil. I WILL KILL YOU!
Blood splatters across the screen. Between the splotches they can see the fighter.
She is cold. She is efficient. She is ruthless. They stood no chance.
An elbow to the ribs. A knee in the stomach. Spin around. Snap. Next one.
Imploding ribcages. Broken backs. Snapped necks. People coughing up blood. Others pleading for mercy. Begging falling on deaf ears. She hears no one.
And in the end there is silence. The soldiers were annihilated.
The film stops as she turns towards the camera, a frozen glimpse caught of a deadly beauty.
"She escaped through the broken window," Une says, looking up in wonder, "It was the 27th floor."
Flash of pale pink butterfly wings…
"You are not fit to join the Preventers, Heero Yuy; but only you can hope to catch this being. Other people know of her, and there will be nothing they would not do to own her. Should they catch her, there will be war. Your peace is at stake, Heero Yuy; will you take this mission?"
But Heero isn't sitting on his chair anymore, he is standing in front of the wide screen, even as the other pilots complain about the outrageousness of this mission.
Yet what Une sees is Heero, standing in front of the image, looking at the girl. A hand is half outstretched, hesitant, longing, and he is frowning, whether at his hand or at the image, an image that they know is of a blond but a blond that nobody can put a face to.
"Will you take the mission, Heero?" she repeats.
He doesn't answer. The four others quiet, looking back to the silent figure as his hand stretches, resting on the fleeting image. His arm moves in a gentle caress.
"Ryoukai."
"What?"
"Ninmu ryoukai. I will do it."
"Hee-chan," Duo hesitantly lies a hand on his friends shoulder, "What do you see, Heero?"
The youth remains silent for a minute, contemplating his boots, before he looks up at his friends concerned face, eyes hardened again with familiar resolve. The fingers spread out, splayed across her face as he faces away from her image, and Duo let's go as he feels something he cannot explain. Spider webs spread out across the screen, cracking like a shattered mirror, blurring the image even more before Heero lets go.
"Wait! What did you do, Heero!" Duo shouts at his back as the brunette grips the door handle.
He turns around; they are all surprised to see him smiling sadly, wistfully, "Gomen nasai." He bows. "You will have to ask Wufei." And the Chinese teen looks as surprised as the rest of them, watching the young man exit through the door, trailing a "Sayonara."
With the sound of the door closing, the screen crumbles; the sound of tinkling glass hitting the floor in myriads of shards, though there is no glass there. Behind the web, they can now see a proper figure emerging; Heero's image…
Sad blue eyes, looking at you; they look soft. Delicate golden eyebrows frown in sorrow. Pink lips turned upwards slightly, almost regretful; knowing she has lost something. And a mask.
"What do you see, Heero?"
And the wind whispers in reply:
"A butterfly…"
What it's supposed to mean:
Nakanai de – Don't cry
Nakanaide kudasai, chibi senshi – Please don't cry, little soldier
Daijobu – I'm allright
Ai to seigi no, seeraa fuku bishoujo senshi, Seeraa Muun. Tsuki ni kawatte, oshiokyo. (Usagi's speech- curtesy of UsagiShiratori)
Okaasan - Mother
Iya - No
Ryoukai – (Er...) Roger that/Understood (?)
Ninmu ryoukai – Mission accepted
Gomen nasai – I'm sorry
Sayonara – Good bye (do research on it yourself for more, I do not pick random words!)
Praeceps:
This baby seems to be suffering severely from angst. Oh well, can't change that. Story is as story comes. I'm just glad that I finally got this chapter out!
I've been mean to Usagi again, but don't tell me you actually expected all to be sunny from here? The girl's in a foreign world. And I wanted to explore the senshi's (manga) habit of killing all "evil". Whether people or evil youma, things shouldn't be that easy, but I don't think it's ever sunk properly in, since it's been monsters till now that they've been slaying. Bodies seemed to mysteriously vanish in the realm of senshi, so I suppose that they were never confronted with the proof of what they were actually doing. Our beautiful virgin innocent is about to learn this much needed lesson, and watching the bodies pile should drive the lesson home.
I changed the suit. Well, would you want to be reminded of what you lost? Works better than a skimpy skirt as well.
I've probably done wretched Japanese, but it's serving its purpose so I'll let it go.
Just one last thing to say before I leave:
THE CHASE IS ON!
Oh! And any spelling mistakes can be blamed on incompetent English teachers, and/or my spell-check program, because I, myself, am PERFECT! ;-P (and when I say I am perfect, I MEAN perfect. My daddy said so ;-P )
Well that was all, for today at least, toodles! ;-D
